Requiem For The Wanderer
by CheshireEnigma
Summary: With the last ties to his previous life cut, Dakkon's insanity has taken control of him making him very dangerous to confront. Despite this, someone still hunts him.
1. Celebration Of Loss Opportunity For Gain

Requiem For The Wanderer

By CheshireEnigma (cheshireenigma@hotmail.com)

Premise: Unusual friends hunt Dakkon Nailo across the planes, but they must first deal with his fleeting sanity.

Rating: PG-13 (Violence)

Disclaimer: All characters mentioned within this story are property of myself except Sylk (Gunvulture), Dirark (Golden147), and Zeia (Lady Zeia). The Dungeons & Dragons system is property of Wizards of the Coast.

_A Celebration For Loss --_

He stood in the middle of it all, unmoving. The once proud village was left in ruins. Houses that had been built around the trunks of trees were splintered; the shattered furniture scattered among the treetops was the only sign that anyone may have once lived amongst the trees. Bodies lay all around him, smoldering, burned beyond recognition. Among them strayed a lone silver-haired half-elf female inspecting the burned faces.

"No – no – no –no, Dakkon, why couldn't you have lived in a village with more acceptable males?" Zeia asked tersely.

"Yes, hardly worth the effort," Sylk softly commented from the shadows.

Dakkon did not favour either of them with a reply nor did he try to banish them. In the past he had attacked the two companions to no effect. After all the years they spent following him, he had become accustomed to their presence. The only one he didn't mind was Dirark. The dark ranger had always stood three paces behind him, silent except during the slaughter in which he let out a keening war cry. He remembered long ago there had been more mortals near him, but could no longer recall who they were or what had happened to them.

Zeia stopped her inspection and glanced up at the brooding elf. "Give it up, Dakkon. You've removed your last link to the mortal world. The village that you grew up in, the people that knew you, all of them are gone. Let's go to the tavern to celebrate."

Dakkon continued to stare at her in silence before giving an almost imperceptible tilt of the head. Without even a gesture, they stood in a crowded tavern. The smell of alcohol, vomit, and sweaty – _filthy_ – mortal bodies almost covered the smell of undeath exuded from the elf's body.

The patrons, the sober ones at least, quickly backed up to get away from the vampire. Silence followed the short exodus until the bartender came around the counter, unsteadily wielding a gnarled wooden club.

"G-git out of here ya damned w-wizard!" he shouted, waving the club for emphasis.

"Kill him," Dirark said quickly. "Kill him and let us leave. Now!"

Dakkon arched an eyebrow at the dark ranger behind him.

"That's the first thing you've said in a long time," Dakkon replied.

Murmurs of 'he's mad!' and 'who is he talking to?' rippled through the tavern as patrons began to scramble for the exits.

Dakkon returned his attention to the fleeing mortals and released a potent spell. As it rippled through the crowd their bodies turned to dust, layering the floor in a thick ash. A second energy ripple emanated from Dakkon and the ash arose to form vampires in the likeness of their creator. They stood where they had coalesced and looked for direction from their master. When all eyes were on him Dakkon floated to the ceiling, his black cape billowing around him silently. Giving a quick glance around the room, his normally placid face became animated.

"Barkeep!" he called out with a large grin, "your finest elven wine!"

The reanimated bartender remained still for a second before lurching into motion.

"There isn't time for this. Something is coming and we must leave immediately!" Dirark barked more insistently.

The myriad of simulacrum Dakkons turned to each other and began animated conversations. Ignoring Dirark, True-Dakkon moved to the bar and sat upon a stool allowing his sensitive ears to listen to the individual conversations.

"It's good that I removed the village, don't you think?" asked one Dakkon to another.

"Perhaps, but maybe it was the last link to my fleeting sanity," replied the other.

"Sanity isn't needed when I have power."

"But how will I use the power when I can't determine what's real and what isn't?"

Boring of one conversation he moved his attention to another.

"What if I added a link to the shadow plane?"

"Deadly, but they would expect that. How about Elysium?"

"I tried that before, remember?"

"Oh yes. I recall when I tried it. That solar didn't care for me much, did she?"

"Hardly," followed by raucous laughter.

Dakkon's attention was brought back to the bar as Dirark slammed his sword point-down into the floor next to his stool. Dakkon turned to find the half-elf's face mere centimeters from his own.

"We must leave _now_. It is no longer safe," Dirark growled.

Dakkon was going to respond when suddenly he sensed something coming closer – something dangerous. All the Dakkons sensed it and turned to stare at the door.

At first the sounds was distant and easily dismissed as a trick of the wind. However, as the seconds passed, it became easily distinguishable as the sound of a thousand voices calling out, arguing, singing.

"Fool!" howled Dirark, drawing his sword into an attack stance. "We will fight our way out."

Zeia placed her pilfered tankard back on the table and sighed heavily.

"Just when it was getting good."

Sylk stopped playing with the shadows of his earlier kills and disappeared without a word.

Dakkon continued to stare at the door, mesmerized by the cacophony of voices. The longer he listened, the more he was convinced that they were talking to him, telling him that he should accept what was coming for him. Though all of his instincts were telling him to flee, he sat rooted in place.

Finally, the door exploded outward and seven-foot tall humanoid strode through the door. Long silver hair cascaded past her shoulders between the expansive wings that nearly scraped the doorframe even when she ducked. Her platinum full plate was adorned with a battlescape between an army of demons and army of angels. When she spoke, her soft but firm voice sounded like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.

"Dakkon, submit to this! Relinquish your ghosts and surrender to tranquility!"

_-- The Opportunity For Gain_


	2. Past That Haunts But Only Means Well

_A Past That Haunts_

"Dakkon, submit to this! Relinquish your ghosts and surrender to tranquility!"

The Dakkons continued to stare at the archangel as she surveyed the room and its inhabitants. Dirark was the first to move, charging the imposing figure with his sword leveled. With barely a movement, chakrams appeared in her outstretched hands and parried the attack. Stopping suddenly, Dirark ducked the counterattack and dodged to one side, jabbing his weapon towards her unprotected flank.

From the shattered doorway, long wooden stakes rocketed towards the other Dakkons, striking them squarely in the chest. As the first two fell, the rest burst into action except for True-Dakkon. Some rushed the angel while other swarmed through the door, trying to find the assailants. Those rushing the door quickly fell back as more Dakkons collapsed with wooden stakes through their chests. Those rushing the angel were quickly dispatched as her chakrams whistled through the air around her. True-Dakkon merely stared stoically at the death of his simulacrums, their demise hardly affecting him. The voices that wafted through the air assured him that his involvement was not needed and for reasons he could not conceive, he believed them.

Motion from the doorway finally caught his attention as an armoured figure surrounded by wooden stakes suspended in midair floated through the doorway. True-Dakkon felt his hackles rose as some active part of his brain recognized the human: Hellbender. Fury coursed through his black veins and for the first time since the battle began, he was able to think clearly.

"I sent you to die! BEGONE!" Dakkon bellowed, quivering in rage.

A flick of his wrist sent a burst of energy around him, recalling his energies and causing the simulacrums to crumble into heaps of ash. Clenching his fist around the accumulated power, he unleashed it in a devastating blast that leveled the tavern with a concussive explosion. When the dust settled, Dirark and the archangel had taken to the air to continue the battle; Dirark having sprouted a large pair of bat wings from his shoulder blades. Zeia and Sylk were nowhere to be seen.

Dakkon's sharp eyes scanned the wreckage for his adversary. Without warning, a sharp blow hit him from behind, causing him to plow through the frozen dirt and into a neighboring house. Ignoring the screaming inhabitants, he flew through the gaping wall and back into the frigid winter air. Hellbender hung above the roofs of the nearby houses, waiting with his arms crossed.

"Dakkon, calm yourself. Tyrian brought me back to my senses after your – treatment. Just come peacefully. She can do the same for you," he said, holding out his hand.

Dakkon halted mid-charge and stared coldly at the pale psion.

"_No_. An archangel does not fraternize with vampires. This is some elaborate ruse to destroy me, or banish me to void space with Mehla, or some other fitting end, correct? This, 'Tyrian', was it? She must have been associated with Mehla and is upset she won't be able to retrieve her friend," Dakkon said with a sneer.

"That isn't true --" Hellbender began, but was cut off when a spiked chain wrapped itself around his neck. His hands shot up to the weapon, but were quickly restrained by another length of chain looping around his chest, pinning his arms. Zeia placed a hand delicately against his cheek and leaned close to his ear.

"Hmmmm, Dakkon, I'm surprised by your taste in men. Can I have him?" she purred, looking innocently at the sorcerer.

Sylk shimmered into existence next to Hellbender with a golden knife placed against the vampire's throat. Smoke wafted up where metal met undead flesh.

"Perhaps you would allow me to add him to my shadow collection?" he asked with a smirk.

"Maybe we can compromise," Dakkon replied with a feral grin.

However, the grin faded quickly as pain, something he hadn't felt in a very long time, blossomed in his chest. Instantly he knew the battle went poorly for Dirark. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Dirark pinned to the ground by his own sword. Thick black blood oozed down the weapon as the dark ranger feebly clawed at the earth, coughing more black blood. Zeia and Sylk paused as if waiting while Dakkon grabbed his chest and shook his head violently. Turning to face Hellbender, he saw Tyrian hovering in front of the human, chakrams held ready; Zeia and Sylk hung behind the sorcerer.

"Careful, Dakkon. She's powerful," Zeia cautioned.

"She'll make a nice shadow," Sylk hissed.

Drawing a flaming longsword, Dakkon held it ready, trying to focus through the pain. "Come, angel, take me if you can."

As he finished his sentence she rushed him, appearing mere inches from him in the blink of an eye. He reared back in an attempt to put distance between himself and his foe, but an armoured hand shot out and grabbed him by his face.

"Surrender yourself Dakkon!" she shouted as a brilliant aura enveloped her hand and Dakkon's face.

Panicked, he tried to call out to Zeia and Sylk but knew they would be no use by their screams of anguish. Gather his concentration, he tried to cast a simple spell to escape her grasp but was overwhelmed by a flood of memories.

Suddenly he remembered –

Zeia, Sylk, and Dirark had left a millennia ago. He had seen Dirark and Zeia briefly, but they hadn't spoken. Wait . . . he had been in disguise and either they didn't notice him or didn't care enough to mention anything. Sylk had gone into self-exile on a plane without magic and had lived out his life there.

There were others too, but all he could recall were faces and experiences. Destroying a village, but taking an orphan. Why? Before then, there was a man who traveled with him, and a dragon! Maybe they had taken the girl.

The town. They had followed him there, he was hunting . . . Zeia. But why that town? She wasn't even on the same plane. He recalled the slaughter. He had killed plenty, but they had all been prostitutes, women of the night.

Another memory bubbled forth, catching his attention. A plane. Lush and verdant. Greenery covered the lands as far as the eye could see. He was a blight upon the land. A runic circle blazed on the soil with him in the middle, chanting. A gate opened above his head and an angel shot out, chased by a dragon covered in black scales. It opened its mouth to swallow her but she dove out of the way. Circling back around, she used her speed and agility to flank it. Drawing an enormous sword, she plunged into its stomach, but was pulled in. Frantically she beat her wings in a futile attempt to free herself from the substance, but all he did was laugh at her demise.

Suddenly it struck him. Lush and verdant. How his home had been before he leveled the canopy it had been settled on. Grief welled up inside his cold gut as he realized what he had done barely an hour previous. Opening his eyes, he looked at Tyrian. She gazed back at him with empathy.

"Peace, Dakkon. Peace be upon you," she whispered softly.

He shut his eyes and let himself drift away, listening to the voices on the wind.

_ . . . But Only Means Well _


	3. Unusual Friends In Unusual Places

_Unusual friends --_

The alabaster walls were spotless in the noonday sun. A gentle breeze drifted lazily amongst the large green trees that covered the landscape. The only sound to be heard was the echoing of footsteps as Tyrian made her way towards a black metal door set in the white stone. A single sentry waited outside, watching the angel make her way down the hallway. Tyrian stopped outside the door and glanced in through the small slot that served as a window.

"Anything from him, Mirg?" she asked.

The large misshapen orcish form of Mirg shook his lumpy head.

"Perhaps we made a mistake? Usually we don't risk converting someone who has been a vampire that long."

Mirg considered her for a moment through his large blue eyes before shrugging.

Tyrian sighed before walking back down the corridor.

"Let me know if anything changes.

Silence. Where were his companions? His tormentors, bullies, annoyances, guardians? He called to them but they didn't respond. Silence.

He had awoken some time ago (the sun never set so he couldn't measure the passage of time) to find himself in a small, white-walled room. Thick bands of a crystalline substance encircled his neck, biceps, wrists, chest, waist, and ankles. Their purpose was to prevent spell casting as he had found through painful experimentation. Without the use of magic he was out of ideas and had resigned himself to covering himself with a blanket and hiding in a corner.

Silence. Without them he felt naked and vulnerable. They had been with him for so long he had forgotten what it was like to be without them. Despite his reliance on them, he couldn't allow them to see it. Silence.

He couldn't tolerate it anymore. He needed them. He needed to get out of here. He needed magic, freedom, and blood. He craved the destruction. It was a siren's call, beckoning him to unleash his arcane powers upon the weaklings that surrounded him.

"To me, my warriors! To me and we shall sunder this land beneath our wrath. The angel will not live another day!"

Tyrian had barely made halfway down the hall when Dakkon's hoarse voice reached her. Spinning on a heel, she sprinted back to the cell and peered through the slot. The vampire had only his head showing from under the blanket; a pitiful site overall.

"Progress, I suppose," she said glumly.

Dakkon suddenly stared at the slot, silent. After a moment he lunged, claws aimed to rake the angel on the other side. Tyrian did not flinch as Dakkon slammed against the door. Jumping back to his feet, he crashed against the door repeatedly, screaming for "the angel's death".

Tyrian did not move.

After ten minutes of the futile effort, Dakkon slumped to the floor. His soft weeping carried through the door to Tyrian's sensitive ears. She glanced at Mirg in surprise.

"I think he's ready. Open the door," she commanded.

Mirg pressed against the door until a small rune appeared, then sunk his arm to the elbow into the metal before pulling back. The door slid silently into the wall leaving Dakkon to tumble into the hallway, still weeping. Kneeling, Tyrian placed a hand on Dakkon's forehead.

Before she could pull back, he grabbed her wrist and twisted hard. Caught by surprise, she grunted and sprawled facedown to the ground. Mirg appeared by her side and helped her back to her feet. Looking down the long hallway, she saw Dakkon sprint out into the wooded area.

"At least he's suffered no permanent physical damage," she sighed.

Freedom at last. To be touched by such a being was revolting to him, but the feeling of freedom overwhelmed it all. Darting from tree to tree, he scurried across the branches listening for any sound of pursuit. There, in the distance, someone running near him. The sound of leather and steel. He would ambush this one and use the weapon to remove his shackles. Then true freedom.

He didn't have to wait long before a small figure wearing leather armour and brandishing a shortsword ran beneath his hiding spot. He dropped from the trees and landed behind her with nary a sound, yet somehow she still heard him. Whipping around, she slashed the shortsword in front of her preventing him from bowling her to the ground.

_Her_? It surprised him to see a female such as this one. She used the wrong weapon. Her ears suggested she was a pureblood elf, also wrong. Her armour was the wrong colour, as were her eyes and hair. Who was she?

Taking advantage of his hesitation, she jabbed at his chest, catching him across the ribs. He hissed in pain, grabbing the wound. He paused again and stared at his hand.

"Blood?" he asked incredulously. "How is this possible?"

"Because you aren't a vampire anymore, you fool," she huffed.

His eyes darkened at the insult as he took up a defensive fighting stance.

"I doubt that, female. My skin is still a delightful pale colour, I have no desire to share the company of an angel, and I see I am still feared," he said with a smirk.

Feinting towards her, she jabbed at him again. Weaving to the outside of her attack, he grabbed her wrist with one hand and braced his other against her armpit. With one smooth motion he heaved with all of his strength, feeling muscle and bone tear and break. Before she could scream, he spun and braced his shoulder under her ruined arm and pulled. She collapsed to the ground and passed out from the pain.

Taking a step back, he admired his work. Picking up the fallen sword, he knelt next to her prone form. Staring at her, he was confused at the emotions and thoughts that were running through his head. He knew he had to kill her, but he couldn't determine a reason. The urge to kill her came from some well established habit, but some part of him told him that she didn't need to be killed. He sighed and stood, dropping the sword.

"Don't get me wrong, I could have killed you if I wanted to, I just didn't want to," he addressed the unconscious female with a laugh.

Turning to proceed deeper into the woods he found the angel standing in front of him. Looking behind him for an escape, he saw three more armoured figures blocking his escape.

"I suppose it ends here?" he sneered.

"Only if you want it to."

"My companions?"

"Dead in a manner of speaking. It's a bit complicated."

He arched an eyebrow in confusion. "How could they be dead? I tried for years to kill them but they always came back."

She shook her head. "Again, it's complicated."

He glanced around at the angel and her soldiers. Although they were in combat stances, none of them had their weapons drawn. He began to question his belief they were his enemies.

"Who are you?"

"I am Tyrian Archangel. You've already met Neia," she said, gesturing to the fallen elf. "Perhaps you'll allow her to be taken to the infirmary?"

He glanced at Neia and nodded, dropping out of his combat stance. "And perhaps you'll answer my questions?"

"Such as?"

"What is my name?"

_-- In Unusual Places _


	4. A Time For Learning A Time For Gathering

A Time For Learning --  
  
Tyrian led Dakkon through the alabaster hallways to a room filled with tables and chairs. The walls were lined with banners and standards covered in all manners of filth. Along one wall were large casks recessed in the stonework. Tyrian approached the casks and drew two mugs from a crate nearby.  
  
"We brew a rather good ale if you'd care for something to drink," she offered, tilting her head towards the casks.  
  
Dakkon, staring at the wall ornaments, was lost in thought. Since he relearned his name he had regained his memories; the weight of a thousand years of actions was heavy on his marred soul. From the corner of his eye he saw Tyrian staring at him expectantly.  
  
"What? Ah, no. I don't need drink."  
  
She shrugged and poured a mug for herself, then beckoned for Dakkon to join her at a table. They were alone in the room so she allowed herself to stretch out.  
  
Dakkon waited in silence as she drank deeply from the glass. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
Slowly, Tyrian set down the mug. "A Demi-plane. A second home, if you will."  
  
"Then who are you? And who are these people I see walking in the halls? They look less like celestials and more like - vampires."  
  
"Ah," she sighed, "one question at a time. I assume you mean what am I in this realm?" He nodded. "I am their leader, in a fashion. In short, I rescue vampires from their destructive urges and enlist them in a hodgepodge army. We then accept tasks in exchange for monetary compensation."  
  
"I was rescued by a mercenary angel?" Dakkon exclaimed.  
  
"Hardly. We have our own agenda, but having a source of income makes forwarding that agenda much easier. Continuing with your questions, these people are vampires that I've rescued and decided to stay with me."  
  
"You mean I have a choice in the matter?"  
  
"Of course," Tyrian said, sitting forward and leaning her elbows against the table.  
  
"What did you do to me?"  
  
Sitting back again, Tyrian rearranged her wings and pondered the question for a moment. "Rescued you," she stated simply and held up her hand to prevent Dakkon from speaking. "I'm unsure how it works, precisely, but by channeling the holy energies that are inherent to me, I can remove the most destructive and chaotic urges of a vampire. In essence, I destroy what makes a vampire a vampire."  
  
"But I don't feel like I did when I was mortal," Dakkon held up his pale hands for emphasis.  
  
"Of course, but then you wouldn't be useful. Vampires have certain abilities that compliment a small army. In general, they're faster, stronger, and smarter than mortals. There are other abilities that they have, but many are lost in the conversion."  
  
"Such as?" Dakkon asked.  
  
"It varies between individuals. Some keep all their powers, some lose them all, and some have partial powers."  
  
"Great," he said glumly, slumping in his seat. A thought came to him and he looked up at his odd companion. "Why aren't we in Celestia? Aren't there more celestials involved in this project?"  
  
Tyrian couldn't keep the pained look from her face. "I was banished from Celestia."  
  
Dakkon sat forward, interested in this development. "Why was that?"  
  
She sighed and settled in her chair. "It was almost two hundred years ago when my sisterhood was sent to assist a cleric in destroying a village that had been taken over by a vampire enclave. As we fought the pathetic creatures that had been the villagers, I began to wonder if there was some way to save them. In the third day of fighting I tested a method. It failed, but for a moment the vampire was freed from the bloodlust. After the battles I continued to experiment with varying degrees of success. Finally I stumbled upon success and freed my first vampire. Somehow word traveled to the Grand Arbiters and I was called before the Tribunal. They ordered me to cease my attempts to redeem the vampires and 'return myself to the ways of justice.' I thought I could convince them otherwise and tried to explain my intentions. All that earned me was a censure and banishment. But that is all in the past now."  
  
"They didn't hunt you when you continued?"  
  
"They tried," she said with a grin, "but the first vampire I rescued was a powerful wizard. He created this demi-plane and erected several wards and protections. As long as we're here, we cannot be tracked or found."  
  
"And when we leave?"  
  
"We carry protections with us. The point is that we haven't made any friends despite keeping various forces of ill-will in check."  
  
"What about my companions, where are they?"  
  
Tyrian looked uncomfortable for a moment before answering. "Your - friends - were manifestations of your madness. As far as we can tell, as you descended deeper into insanity, your various psyches became tangible, in a sense. They were visible only to you, but could interact with the corporeal world. As you grew in power, your arcane magicks fueled their forms."  
  
"Behold the power of an active imagination," Dakkon commented with a wry grin.  
  
"Indeed. Your real companions are staying with us." She held up a hand before Dakkon to speak. "In fact, it was they who sought us out to save you. We were planning on taking a bounty on your head, but that female you kept company with convinced us otherwise."  
  
"When can I see them?" Dakkon blurt when she was finished.  
  
"In a moment. Are you in?"  
  
Dakkon pondered it for a moment. In reality, he had already made up his mind, but he decided to continue questioning Tyrian.  
  
"What do I get out of it?"  
  
Tyrian barked a short laugh. "Always looking out for yourself! You get protection, food, housing, and all the drink you could possibly imbibe."  
  
"Fair enough," he said slowly, "I'm in."  
  
"Excellent! Welcome to Tyrian's Irregulars," she said clasping his shoulder from across the table.  
  
"'Tyrian's Irregulars?' Who came up with that name?"  
  
"The first group decided that we needed a name and it just fit," she shrugged dismissively.  
  
"Now, where can I find them?"  
  
"They're probably in the desert arboretum, they seem to spend most of their time there."  
  
Dakkon concentrated for a moment, then looked disappointed at the crystalline bands. He tapped his wrists together for emphasis. "May I have my powers back?" he nearly begged.  
  
Tyrian waved her hand and tendrils of silver magic shot from her hand and into the joints on the bands. Before they could hit the floor, Dakkon was gone.  
  
-- A Time For Gathering 


	5. Reunited With Friends Among Those Who Ca...

Reunited With Friends --  
  
Dakkon hovered several hundred feet above the Irregular's facility. Spotting a likely structure, he dove towards it, enjoying the air whipping his hair and clothes. When he reached the transparent walls of the arboretum, he slowed and circled, searching for his companions. Not spotting them, he landed and entered. The dry air was warm and a small breeze shifted the sand beneath his feet.  
  
'Perfect place for a dragon,' Dakkon mused.  
  
As if on queue, the sands shifted violently and a large blue dragon emerged. Shaking a few remaining grains of sand, the dragon plodded over to the elf and bent his long neck down. Breathing deeply of the elf's scent, the dragon seemed to approve and lay down to allow a shrouded figure to dismount. As the figure approached, it began unwrapping thick bands of cloth from itself, eventually revealing soft feminine features and long brown hair piled on top of her head. When she removed her goggles, Dakkon knew who she was.  
  
"Ilta," he said, bowing his head in greeting.  
  
"Dakkon," she said, returning his bow.  
  
"I believe I owe you an apology."  
  
"You're too late for an apology. Perhaps a hundred years ago, but I forgave you long ago."  
  
Dakkon arched an eyebrow. A hundred years? She hardly looked a day past twenty.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted as he spotted the dragon starting to shrink and assume a bipedal form. When the transformation was complete, Dakkon approached with a large grin on his face. "Jalnor, it has been a while."  
  
Jalnor returned the grin and moved forward to join the gathering. "Indeed. You look better."  
  
"I suppose I feel better, considering you're the only two I see." They continued grinning at each other until the silence became uncomfortable. Finally Dakkon asked a question that had been gnawing at him, though he already knew the answer. "Where's Snap?"  
  
Ilta and Jalnor looked at each other uncomfortably. Finally, Jalnor answered. "We aren't sure what happened to your familiar. He doesn't exist anymore, that much we're sure of."  
  
Dakkon frowned and asked his next question, trying to put off thinking about his dead familiar. "Why did you do this? Why go through the trouble to find some way to rescue me?"  
  
Ilta was the first to speak up. "I was angry at you for so long. I wanted revenge for my family, but time passed and the hurt dulled. Eventually I tried to convince myself that had you been in your right mind, you wouldn't have destroyed the village. I suppose this is part of proving it to myself."  
  
Dakkon chuckled. "I'll see what I can do about proving you right."  
  
Ilta's face darkened. "You seem to have retained your poor sense of humour. Why don't you go bother Neia? She's in the infirmary all alone. If you're lucky she won't try and kill you"  
  
Dakkon thought about it for a moment, then nodded with a wry grin. "Probably a good idea to charm her. Maybe offer her dinner. If you'll excuse me."  
  
Jalnor and Ilta stared in disbelief as Dakkon took to the air.  
  
~~  
  
The infirmary was a small room housed in the main complex. The white walls were lined with shelves filled with various medical supplies. Against the far wall were several beds; in one lay an unconscious Neia and another was taken by Hellbender. When Dakkon entered, Hellbender sat up and motioned the elf to him.  
  
"You have a potent imagination," Hellbender commented, rubbing the welts on his neck.  
  
"Yes, we could continue making unamusing jokes about the effects of my insanity, but I would prefer to offer a simple apology and move on."  
  
Hellbender stared at Dakkon for several long seconds. "I've heard you can be a little brutal at times."  
  
"See? We're friends already. I have to know, how were you found? I recall capturing you and setting you loose upon the bounty hunter's guild in Wayfare, but that's the last I remember seeing of you."  
  
The psion shook his head. "Yes, I believe you forgot about me after the Wayfare event. I waited for your next command, but when I didn't receive anything, I returned to my home. Obviously the citizens of my home city didn't approve of a vampire taking residence in the area, so they attacked and I reprised. The attack leveled the city and left me at even more of a lost as to what to do. In the end, I entombed myself in the earth and waited for you. Eventually Tyrian stumbled across me and brought me here."  
  
Dakkon tried to repress a snicker. "You buried yourself in the earth? That's almost -" he was cut off by a length of fabric tightening around his neck. The sorcerer tried to turn, but was forced to the ground by a powerful hand.  
  
"Leave us, Hellbender," commanded a female voice.  
  
Dakkon heard Hellbender stand and walk out. "Try not to kill him. I think Tyrian has plans for him," he said nonchalantly.  
  
After the door closed, Neia pressed her face close to Dakkon's. "In Tyrian's favour already? Count yourself lucky, elfling. I was looking forward to breaking your little limbs."  
  
"Better already? Then why should you be upset?" Dakkon said as dignified as possible from the floor.  
  
The fabric tightened slightly. "I wouldn't be a smartass if I were in your position," she hissed.  
  
"Actually, I'm a smartass in every position. There are beds all around us if you'd care to discover -" he was cut off by a knee slamming into his kidney.  
  
"Don't try me, elfling," she growled and sunk her sharp teeth into his shoulder.  
  
"You know, I used to travel with a female who would have loved you, frequently, had you done that to her," he said through clenched teeth.  
  
Neia spat on his back and released him. "Let me make this simple, if you ever talk to me again, I'll kill you on the spot, regardless of Tyrian."  
  
Dakkon didn't stand until she left the room. Shortly afterwards, Tyrian entered with a questioning look on her face.  
  
"Did you and Neia have a pleasant conversation?" she asked, somewhat sarcastically.  
  
"Of course."  
  
Tyrian sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Please refrain from making enemies of all the members."  
  
Dakkon grinned broadly. "Hardly, I think she loves me."  
  
Tyrian stared at Dakkon and finally shrugged. "I might as well send you on a mission with the others before you do something stupid."  
  
Dakkon nodded, still smiling from ear to ear.  
  
-- Among Those Who Care 


End file.
